Tell Me a Story
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: A long drive across the Cascade Mountains in the worst blizzard in years leads to trouble for Detectives Ellison and Sandburg.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally written in the around 2005, so technology is not at a 2017 level.

Many thanks to those who have read these stories and may have left commentary. I hope you enjoy this one.

TELL ME A STORY

by EvergreenDreamweaver

 **Plot Blurb:** A long drive across the Cascade Mountains in the worst blizzard in years leads to trouble for Detectives Ellison and Sandburg.

"Mmmm, wake me up when we get to Cascade."

The drowsy words were followed by a yawn, and the distinct squeaky sound of a leather-coated body snuggling into the leather-covered passenger seat. Detective Jim Ellison, Sentinel of Cascade, glanced to his right, an indulgent smile tilting his lips upwards as he surveyed his partner and Guide. Blair was cuddled down in the seat, eyes tightly shut, strands of his long dark hair drifting down and obscuring his face.

"What? You're not going to stay awake and keep me company on the drive back? I thought you were going to tell me stories to keep me entertained!" Jim strove to fill his tone with hurt feelings – despite the fact that his feelings _weren't_ hurt, and he didn't really mind Blair's desire to nap for the next several hours. "What if I fall asleep at the wheel?" he continued his teasing, trying to stifle the chuckles upwelling in his chest.

Blair Sandburg might be a police detective now instead of a mere observer, but his partner, roommate and best friend still had the ability to deceive him when he wanted to. Sandburg sat up straight, distressed blue eyes fixed on the other man. "Huh? Jim, do you think you might? Or…jeez, you might zone on the snowflakes! I never thought of that!" He rubbed a hand distractedly over his face. "I'll stay awake, no problem, man." He reached for the seat controls, preparing to pull the seat back up from its reclined position.

Ellison let the chuckles escape. "Chief, you are so damned easy, sometimes! No, I don't think I'm going to fall asleep; I was just yanking your chain! And I'm not gonna zone on the snow, for Pete's sake! Go on, lie down and catch a nap."

Blair leaned an elbow against the flattened seat back and glared. "You are evil, and it would serve you right if you did fall asleep at the wheel. Except that that'd involve me, too." He sighed in resignation. "I'll stay awake, man. But these reclining seats are so nice…."

"Sandburg, I was joking. I'm fine. Go to sleep."

"I can't, now. And it's all your fault! You got me worried." Sandburg flounced back down and folded his arms across his chest, scowling up at the ceiling.

Jim shook his head and kept his attention on the snowy road. If Blair decided to be in a snit all the way back to Cascade, they were in for a long, unpleasant trip, for it was going to take more than the usual five-plus hours, the way the weather was shaping up. Momentarily, Ellison questioned their decision to drive back to Cascade from Walla Walla that evening, rather than staying the night and returning in the morning. But they'd both wanted to get back to their home without further delay.

Ordinarily, the detectives from Major Crimes didn't pull duty on prisoner transfers. That was left to the uniformed officers, or prison staff. But this was a special occasion, and they'd been personally requested for the trip. And despite the fact that it was a _prisoner_ who'd done the requesting, the team of Ellison and Sandburg had obliged without even a hint of complaint!

Sometimes there were people you encountered, Jim mused silently, people on the 'wrong' side of the law, with whom, despite the fact that you were on one side and they on the other, you just _clicked_. You liked them in spite of everything. Such had been the case with Tommy Wu, the charming, handsome dealer in exotic animal pelts and related items who had been temporarily aligned with the police and the FBI to catch larger prey – and who had, when the fireworks were over, skimmed away in a swift power boat, with a laugh and a tantalizing wave of the hand. Jim had liked him – had enjoyed conversing with him.

And then there was Gustavo Alconte, the wily-as-a-fox retired mobster who had escaped the law's clutches not once, but twice in less than two years, and managed to save Blair's life while doing it. Ellison still chuckled when he remembered the slick way Gustavo eluded being captured by the FBI. He hoped the man was enjoying his retirement, wherever he was.

And another – the person he and Blair had been asked to transport: Harry Conkle. The highly successful bank robber who had aided the Cascade police and federal agents in apprehending a copy-cat criminal who added murder to the agenda….Who wanted more than anything to reunite with his estranged daughter – and who had risked his life to save and defend his baby grandson. Despite his background, both Blair and Jim had liked the man.

Hospitalized for cancer treatments, Harry had been kept in Seattle for some time, but the successful remission of his disease had finally prompted his transfer to the penitentiary at Walla Walla. And he'd requested that if at all possible, the detective team of Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg be his escorts.

Obviously neither Jim's '69 pickup nor Blair's equally-ancient Volvo would be usable for a trip across the state in mid-January, with the roads treacherous and the mountain passes snow-clogged. There wouldn't have been room in the truck, anyway. So they had taken an SUV from the Motor Pool – a late-model, 4WD, fully-equipped black Ford Explorer. When Blair had seen their temporary ride, he had gone wide-eyed with delight. Checking out all the various bells and whistles the rig was equipped with, the young man had fairly _crooned_ with pleasure. And Jim, although he couldn't help but feel rather guilty for comparing this sleek vehicle to his old truck, was equally appreciative – appreciative enough that Blair never had a chance to try driving the SUV!

###

The previous day:

"Jim…Jim, Jim, get one of these! We need one! Say you'll get one!" Sandburg had cajoled, fastening dancing, laugh-filled, beseeching blue eyes on his Sentinel as he crawled about on the back deck, investigating storage compartments.

Ellison snorted in derision from the driver's seat, even as he drew in a careful breath. This vehicle still had a whiff of 'new car' scent – at least to someone with enhanced senses. "You make it sound like a puppy, Sandburg. 'It followed me home – please, can I keep it?' I had one of these, remember?"

"You had an Expedition," Sandburg countered. "Too big. This is better." He opened another compartment. "Ooooh, here's the first-aid stuff. And space blankets. And…lessee, what's this?.…hey, extra cuffs! Two major-sized flashlights and extra batteries. Umm…rope. And FOOD!"

"Food?" Jim craned his neck, curious.

"Yeah, granola bars and bottled water and dried fruit, and trail mix." Blair cataloged his finds. "And candy bars!" Again the beseeching look. "Jim, we need a rig like this!"

"Chief, they don't come stocked with candy bars, you know! Besides, I like my truck. You want an SUV, you save your money and buy yourself one."

"Oh yeah, like that's gonna happen any time soon, even with a steady paycheck now. You know I'll be paying off student loans for eternity, man!" Blair sighed, shut the compartments, and scooted himself out the back hatch. "Okay, I'll admit it – I'm hooked. Now I can hardly wait to take Harry to Walla Walla tomorrow morning."

#####

The journey had gone smoothly. Conkle and his guard occupied the back seat, Blair was in the front passenger seat, Ellison behind the wheel. Blair spent a lot of time twisted about in his seat, chatting with Harry about Lindsey and Tyler, now a robust toddler; and admiring the little photo album Conkle carried, which was filled with snapshots of his daughter and grandson. They arrived at the penitentiary without incident, Harry bid them goodbye, and was escorted away.

"Well, whaddya say?" Jim glanced at his watch. "It's only four. We can probably make it home by ten at the latest. Or would you rather stay in Walla Walla tonight and drive back tomorrow in daylight?"

Blair considered it thoughtfully. "You're okay to drive? What if the weather gets bad? Is there anyplace we could stop, in between?"

"Well…Yakima or Ellensburg, I guess. I'm fine to drive," Ellison assured him, "but there is a storm warning out. If you'd rather wait, Chief—"

"Nah, I wanna get home to Cascade. We've got snow tires and 4-wheel drive."

"I feel the same way. Let's go. We can stop on the way out of town and pick up something to eat on the way – and about a gallon of coffee!"

They bid goodbye to the warden, and agreed to keep in contact with the facility by radio until they were safely over the pass and on the downhill path to Cascade. "And then we'll turn you over to your own people to look after," Warden Merewether said, only half joking.

Ellison gave him a wry look. "We don't require all that much looking after."

#####

Remembering that conversation now, the Sentinel wished he hadn't been quite so flippant. The promised snowstorm had taken on the auspices of a full blizzard, and visibility was sharply curtailed by the swirling white flakes. Even at 6 p.m., it was already pitch dark, save for the blowing curtains of snow, and Jim, enhanced sight or no, was having difficulty seeing the road. It was well that other traffic was nearly nonexistent. _Guess everyone else had better sense…._ He had been careful to keep checking in with their associates in Walla Walla by radio every half hour, although he kept the police radio's volume reduced in an effort to let Blair doze.

"Wow, it's really coming down!" Instinctively seeming to know when Jim needed his help, Blair abandoned his sulks, sat up and peered into the night. "Does it help to dial up sight?" he asked now, sensing his partner's discomfort with the driving conditions. He laid a palm lightly on Ellison's thigh – just enough contact to ground.

The Sentinel attempted to extend his sight, and pulled back abruptly. "Whoa! THAT doesn't work! I could see the individual flakes more clearly, but I can't see the road any better. I just see more, not through!"

"Okay, okay, now we know not to try it again," Sandburg soothed, increasing the pressure on Jim's leg slightly. "Maybe a snowstorm is one of the things that being a Sentinel really doesn't help with." Inside, he was kicking himself; he was sure Jim could use his enhanced sight in a snowstorm to good effect, but they'd never gotten around to testing it. Jim's control and expertise in using his senses had become much better, but occasionally he stumbled, all the same. And after all this time, Jim wasn't nearly as amenable to a battery of Guide-tests and experiments as he had been back in the early days. Still, Blair had to make the attempt. "Maybe we could see if it works better under less stressful conditions, sometime," he suggested diplomatically, careful to avoid the word _tests_.

"Maybe," the Sentinel said grudgingly. He eased off the gas, slowing their speed. "We'll be lucky to make it home by midnight at this rate. Sorry, Chief; guess we should have stayed where we were."

"'S'all right. Midnight 's good enough. Simon's not gonna expect us in to work until late, anyway." Blair yawned again. "Sorry, man – I've got a case of the sleepies that just won't quit." He looked at the dashboard clock and snorted disbelievingly. "How can I be sleepy? It's only 7 o'clock !"

Jim slanted an affectionate look in his partner's direction. "If you're tired, it doesn't matter what time it is. We had an early start this morning, remember? Lie back and get some sleep. I'm going to be taking it slow. I'll wake you up if I need to."

"Well…" Reluctantly, Sandburg eased himself back down on the reclined seat and curled his body towards the door. "You make sure you do, man." Another yawn. "Make sure you do."

#####

Some time later, the Sentinel found himself actually considering pulling off the road and waiting out the storm, despite his desire to get home. It was snowing harder than he could ever remember seeing it – a blizzard of monumental proportions, with the snow rapidly piling up on the highway. The Explorer's headlights cut a bright path into the swirl of flakes, but the wipers could barely keep the windshield clear, even at high speed.

"Jim?" Blair's muffled voice was a surprise; Ellison had thought his Guide sound asleep. "Where are we, man?"

"Somewhere close to Manastash Ridge, I think."

"You think?" Sandburg turned his head, squinting in the dash lights' green glow. "That doesn't sound very encouraging! Don't you know where we are? And you have the nerve to talk about my navigation skills," he added, much lower.

The older detective chuckled grimly. "It's kind of hard to tell, Chief; the road signs are covered with snow."

"HUH? It's that deep?" Now Blair's blue eyes were wide and startled. He pushed up on an elbow to look out the window.

"No, Darwin, it's not that deep, it's sticking on the signs!" Jim's chuckle was a little less grim now. "But I think we're getting near the top of the ridge."

"Least it's all downhill after that," Blair muttered, and lay back down again.

###

Ellison eased the Explorer along the highway, peering through the hypnotic swirl of snowflakes hitting the windshield and trying to filter out the incessant _slap-squeeee_ racket of the wipers dragging across the glass. Thinking back _,_ he wished mightily that they'd stopped and put on tire chains before starting up the mountains, but there was no way in hell he was about to try and put them on _now_! _No, thank you very much, lying in a couple feet of cold-and-wet slush, struggling with stubborn metal devices from hell is_ _not_ _on the agenda._ Luckily, it wasn't horribly cold – about thirty degrees, maybe – and the thickly-piling snow made for better traction than a thin layer over ice.

 _At least Blair's able to sleep._ The Sentinel spared a quick glance at his partner, subconsciously tuning in to relaxed breathing and even heartbeats. He returned his gaze to the front.

"What the HELL?"

As if materializing from the snow itself, a dark shape launched itself from the left side of the road, where the mountainside sloped sharply upwards. A deer, uncharacteristically out and moving after dark, leaped into the highway, halting momentarily as the headlights caught it mid-leap.

Ellison instinctively jammed his foot onto the brake, and the SUV slewed around, skidding in the slush. Jim felt the crunch and jarring thump as the wheels left the smooth-surfaced asphalt and hit the rougher terrain of the roadside. The deer wheeled about and bounded up the hillside once more…and the Explorer, despite Jim's frantic efforts to control the skid and steer it back onto the highway, continued to slide sideways. And then, without haste but with no indications of stopping, it slipped further, swung about so that the nose pointed directly downhill, and rolled forward inexorably, gathering speed as it descended into the deep ravine.

"BLAIR! Hang on!" Ellison clutched the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, trying in vain to aim the vehicle away from obstacles he could scarcely see.

"Huh? Wha-?" Barely awake, Blair raised his head. "Are we off the road – oh my God – JIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMM!"

With some thought of preventing the chance of a fiery explosion, the Sentinel took one hand from the wheel and shoved the transmission into Neutral, then switched off the ignition. The abrupt cessation of engine noise made other, tiny, sounds amplify – the crunch of tires over snow, the scrape of a bush or a rock along the undercarriage. A tiny whimper from Blair, whose panicked scream had abruptly cut off, and the sound of his heart attempting to batter its way out of his chest.

Too late, Jim realized his mistake in turning off the engine: without the motor running, the windshield wipers ceased to function, and he was essentially blind within seconds. _God, what a stupid, stupid, STUPID-fool move!_ Unable to do anything other than hang on and hope for the best, Jim braced himself, and prayed his Guide was doing the same. He felt the Explorer's wheels bounce and then slam back onto the ground, and then there came an abrupt THUD as something impacted the right-side back door. The Explorer shuddered, slewed sideways once again…

And stopped.

A tiny avalanche of snow poured over the vehicle, knocked loose from the sapling it rested against, covering the windows and roof. And more snow fell from the skies, quickly blotting out tire tracks and skid marks and shrouding the Explorer from any seeking eyes.

#####

Jim Ellison drew in a shaky breath and cautiously opened his eyes to darkness and sullen silence marred only by the quiet _tick-tick_ of cooling metal and the _hush-shush-shush_ of steadily falling snow. It was dark wherever he looked, save for slightly lighter rectangles where the windows must be – but those were so thickly coated with snow they were as impenetrable as a brick wall. Wincing at the resultant throbbing in his head, the Sentinel dialed up eyesight to compensate for the darkness. He found himself hanging slightly sideways in his seat, over the center console; the Explorer was tilted on an angle down the hillside. Moving carefully, he pushed himself back into his seat, and unfastened his safety belt. _Airbags didn't deploy…_ And then suddenly he was lunging forward again, over the console, feeling panic choking him.

"Blair? BLAIR!"

Ellison's seatbelt had kept him relatively unscathed – somehow he'd managed to _not_ hit the steering wheel with his chest – although he suspected he was going to have more than a few bruises, including those from the belt itself, and his left knee ached considerably. But Sandburg – Blair had been lying down, his seat belt loose across his body. When the car had hit…whatever it was it hit…what had happened to his partner?

 _Okay…okay. Calm down, Ellison; you can hear his heart beating, you can hear him breathing; he's alive; just calm down._ Jim dragged in a breath and reached to turn on the interior lights, then bit his lip as he took in the sight of his best friend sprawled limply in the flattened passenger seat. Faintly, he could smell the coppery tang of blood.

"Chief?" This time the Sentinel's voice was much softer. He unfastened Blair's seatbelt, then reached to lay a hand against his cheek. "Blair, wake up."

At the touch, the younger detective stirred slightly, and opened his eyes, then winced away from the glare of the dome light, closing them again. "Ow…."

"Easy…you okay?"

"Jim – did we just slide down a cliff?"

"Well, I think it was more of a hill than a cliff, but…yeah. We did."

Blair groaned. "We do not deserve this, man! We don't!" He slitted his eyes open. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay, but I want to check you out. Turn towards me, Chief." Ellison encouraged the movement with gentle pressure.

Blair reluctantly complied, and Jim grimaced when his Guide's face came into full view. With the seat reclined, Blair's head had been adjacent to the right rear door – the door which had been the point of impact. His face was already showing signs of bruising, a knot was forming near his temple, and a cut on his right cheek was oozing blood.

"Let me see your eyes," the Sentinel requested quietly. He cupped his partner's chin in one hand and stared into the wide eyes with concern, wishing he had a penlight handy. From the looks of it, Blair had taken quite a hard blow – easily enough to cause a concussion. He held up the other hand. "How many fingers?"

Blair squinted. "Uh – three?"

"Mmmm. You seeing anything else double, Sandburg?"

"Not really double, Jim – just kinda blurry. Not wearing my glasses, remember?" Blair sighed and shut his eyes. "Splitting headache," he admitted in a whisper.

Glad that he didn't need any brighter lights, since what there was evidently hurt his Guide, Ellison continued his examination, dialing up touch to feel carefully for broken bones or other injuries.

"Well, Chief, I think you may have concussed yourself a little, but probably not too bad," he said at last. "And that shoulder's pretty badly bruised. We should get a butterfly on your cheek, too."

Blair pulled himself up and sat erect, perching on the edge of his seat and resting his aching head on one hand. Long dark curls fell forward, forming a soft curtain which hid his features from view. "Jim…"

"Hmmm?" The older man squirmed between the seats, making his way towards the back storage compartments where the first aid kit was. He winced as his knee protested the movements.

"We're stuck here…aren't we?" There was a very definite tightness to Sandburg's voice, strive though he might to make it sound casual. As he continued speaking, the tightness increased, and was accompanied by a quaver – and then strangled gulps. "We went off the road and down a cliff – hill, whatever – and we're who knows how far down, and we don't know where we are, and we have no way to get out, and there's a blizzard out there, and we're trapped here, aren't we? We'll freeze to death before anyone ever finds us!"

Jim dropped the first aid kit and hastily wriggled back between the seats, intent on reaching his Guide in a hurry. He hadn't seen Blair in full panic-attack mode for a long time – months. Maybe more like years. But if he was any judge, Sandburg Panic Attack Number-Whatever was imminent. He could hear Blair's heartbeat performing a frantic _flamenco_ , and his breath hitching in his chest. This situation had combined a lot of stress-inducers for Blair, considering past history: falling downward in a small enclosure, cold, dark, lost, trapped, injured. Yeah, it was no wonder his partner was freaking a little.

"Whoa now, Chief – come on, take it easy. Relax. Breathe." He wrapped an arm around Blair, careful of the bruised areas. "We'll be all right. Shhh, it's okay. We'll be fine."

"I…know. I d-do know….M-my m-mind knows…it's my psy-psyche that…won't believe it. S-sorry. It's – just – can't seem to…breathe, man!" Sandburg shook his head, trying to force a laugh through the gasps for air. "I know…what's happening…and I'm sorry…can't help it…."

Jim hugged a little harder. "What's that line you've used on me for five years? 'Slow, deep breaths?' Come on Chief, do it for me, focus – or do you want to be informed you have the attention span of a gerbil?"

This time Blair's laugh was genuine, albeit with a slightly hysterical edge. "I'm…focusing, Jim; I'm focusing…." But he still shook in Jim's arms. "It's hard – head hurts…." Again he struggled to draw air into his lungs.

The Sentinel patted his back soothingly. "I know, I know. Attaboy. Breathe slowly. In…out….Again. That's it…yeah…and…out." Satisfied that his Guide's panic had subsided somewhat, Ellison loosened his grasp just a little. "You okay now?"

"Yeah – sorry for the drama.." Abashed, Blair stiffened, starting to turn away, but Jim tightened his hold again.

"No need for apologies, Chief. I'd say your reaction was pretty normal, for somebody who woke up the way you did - just as we started the slide down. Just sit tight for a minute while I get the first aid kit." With a final squeeze, Jim released him and moved to the back of the car again. Blair sighed tiredly and lay back, staring at the snow-covered window with glum resignation.

Cleaning and bandaging the cut took only a few minutes; once it was done, Ellison set the medical supplies on the back seat, and settled into the driver's seat again. He switched off the interior lights, then reached to turn the ignition key. "Not sure about trying to start it, but I want to use the radio." He turned on the auxiliary power, and the reassuring glow of the instrument panel lit the interior of the Explorer. Smiling a little at his partner's soft sigh of relief, Jim keyed the police radio and started his attempt to contact Walla Walla.

"Hey, Ron? Uhm…Say, Houston…we have a problem…."

" _ELLISON? Where the_ _hell_ _have you been? I've been trying to raise you for 45 minutes! Why didn't you check in?"_

"Sorry, Ron – we've had a little – well, problem's a good word for it."

" _What's wrong?"_

"Slid off the road somewhere on Manastash Ridge. I'm not sure exactly where. We're down in a ravine – pretty far – and getting buried, basically."

" _Are you guys okay?"_

"Yeah. Bruises, mostly – Sandburg took a pretty good crack on the head. But we're pretty much okay. Just very, very stuck."

There was a brief silence. Then an extremely reluctant response _: "Jim – State Patrol's closed the highway. I'm not sure anyone can get to you right now."_

The Sentinel sighed. "I figured as much. But I wanted someone to know where we were, anyway."

" _We'll get the patrol on it as soon as possible, you know that. But right now – the weather's too bad; we'd never find you. You're sure you'll be okay until morning?"_

"We'll be fine." If Jim's voice had a slightly hollow ring, only Blair noticed.

" _I'll call Cascade PD and let your captain know."_

"Thanks, Ron." Ellison suppressed a wry chuckle. _Oh yeah, thanks…Simon's gonna pitch a fit when he hears about this!_

" _You guys stay put and try to keep warm, hear me? Call us every so often. We want to be sure you're still doing okay."_

"All right, Ron. Thanks. We'll try. Ellison out." Jim switched off the radio and turned the ignition key off. The green glow faded, leaving them in darkness once more. The Sentinel heard an almost-successfully- suppressed whimper from Blair's direction as the blackness pressed at their eyes.

"You doing okay, Chief?"

"Just envying you your night vision, big guy."

"You don't have to, you know…I'll just switch on the dome light again for a bit." Suiting action to the words, Jim looked his partner over carefully. Blair was still very pale, he noted with concern; the right side of Blair's face was becoming puffy and swollen, and his eyes were squinched with pain. He flinched from the glare of the light, and rubbed his forehead fretfully.

 _The light hurts his eyes, but he's spooked without it…. All right – this has gone on long enough_ , Ellison decided. _Time to get organized and settle in for the duration of our stay – and make it as comfortable as possible!_

"I'm going to check outside," he announced. "If the tailpipe's clear, I'll try starting the car for a little bit – long enough to get us some heat, anyway."

Blair levered himself upright. "Okay, just give me a chance to find my gloves—"

"Whoa, Junior; I didn't say anything at all about you going out there!"

"Like I'd let you go out by yourself!" the younger man scoffed. "Not a chance, man!"

"Sandburg, there's no reason for us both to get wet and cold, and you're hurt—"

"And you're not? I saw how you're favoring that knee, Jim."

Jim ignored the pointed observation. "Sandburg, stay put. I'm just gonna make sure the tailpipe's open, and see how badly damaged that door is." Locating his gloves, which he'd put on the floor behind his seat, the Sentinel pulled them on, and jerked his Jags cap down over his forehead.

Disregarding his roommate's admonition – as usual – Sandburg also rummaged for his gloves and hat, despite the fact that moving around made his head throb and induced a definite queasy sensation. "I'm going too," he asserted. "Besides, I – um – I need to find a tree, man, and – uh – mark my territory. So to speak."

Jim had to chuckle at that, and capitulated.

"Okay. But then you're getting back in and resting while I set up camp." Ellison grinned. "So to speak."

###

If they hadn't been _stuck_ , Blair thought, it would have been an absolutely magical time and place to be. He took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air lessening the painful throbbing of his head just slightly, and gazed around, fascinated despite his worries.

The snow was piled high; the Explorer was sunk to the tops of the wheel-wells in the powdery stuff from the current storm; the snowpack beneath was probably several feet deep. The air was filled with millions of icy particles floating and swirling and creating their own ambient light. There was only a slight wind, down here in the sheltered ravine, and the falling snow accumulated swiftly. Already, in the short time they had been marooned, the marks of the car's descent were almost completely obliterated. In another hour or so, no one would ever be able to tell that a vehicle had gone off the highway and down the long embankment.

Jim, trying without success to conceal his limp, went to the back of the SUV and began scooping snow away from the undercarriage, clearing the tailpipe. Blair pulled on his gloves, unearthed a snow scraper from beneath the driver's seat, and started shoving the snow off the windshield, reduced to using mainly his left hand, as his bruised right shoulder protested. He knew it was a useless effort; with the snow coming down the way it was, it would soon be covered again. But it made him feel as if he was contributing. _Maybe the windows wouldn't get covered up right away; they're more vertical._ He moved on to them next.

With the back passenger door wedged firmly against the small tree, and the overall downward tilt of the Explorer, getting in or out on the right side of the car was impossible; the snow was nearly up to the windows. It was hard enough getting the left-side doors open. After pushing the snow accumulation from the windows, Sandburg concentrated on scraping snow away from those doors.

"There." Jim stepped back, panting. "I'm gonna try starting the engine." He waded back to the driver's door and got in. Blair stepped away from the car, and after a few cranky-sounding sputters and grinding noises, the Explorer's motor caught. Jim turned on the headlights, and Blair felt as if he'd been inserted into a brilliantly-lighted glass snow-globe!

"YEAH!" Sandburg raised a fist in a gesture of triumph. Jim gave him a thumbs-up, grinning, and exited the car again, leaving the engine running and the heater blasting on High.

"All right, Chief; now's the time to – what did you call it? Mark our territory? Then we can get back in the car and try to warm up."

#####

By the time Blair was back in the Explorer, his exhilaration had ebbed, despite the welcoming warmth of the vehicle. He was chilled, damp, and his headache, which had eased briefly, returned with a vengeance. His shoulder hurt. He felt queasy. The realization that they were trapped at the bottom of a ravine in a blizzard depressed him. A lot. He huddled into his seat, feeling miserable.

Jim, on the other hand, was busy being Mr. Efficiency. Leaving the motor running to provide heat as long as possible, he flattened down the rear seats. He got out the thin, silvery space blankets and the plaid car blanket Blair had brought along from home, and created a makeshift bed, removing his coat and commandeering Blair's, to use as padding. The small duffles the roommates had packed in case they spent the night in eastern Washington made acceptable – if somewhat lumpy – pillows. He set the first aid kit within easy reach, and he got out the packages of emergency food rations and bottled water. He took out one flashlight and an extra package of batteries, and he put his holster and sidearm on the dash. When the back was arranged to his liking, he settled down in his seat and took a good long look at his partner…and didn't much like what he saw. "Chief? You doing okay?"

Blair raised his head slowly. "Yeah, sure. Guess so."

"You hungry? There's stuff to eat here…remember? All those goodies you liked?"

"No thanks." Blair let his head droop down again. He leaned it against the seat, and closed his eyes.

Monitoring him, Jim didn't find anything too worrisome in his Guide's vitals, but it was obvious that Blair was extremely 'down.' "You warm enough?"

"Right now I am," Blair muttered. "But as soon as you turn off the engine, it's gonna get cold again."

"Not right away, Chief. It'll stay warm for awhile."

"What about air?"

"We'll be fine. Trust me. We can always lower a window a little bit, if it gets stuffy." The Sentinel frowned; it was very unlike Blair to be so pessimistic, and really, they _were_ fairly well off. Was he possibly injured worse than Jim thought? "Hey, I forgot – I want you to take some Tylenol. We don't have any regular aspirin, but that's better than nothing." He reached for the first aid kit, and got out the small container of pain reliever.

Blair gazed at his partner's extended hand, and reluctantly accepted the three caplets offered. "Thanks," he whispered, and swallowed them with a few gulps of cold coffee. "You should take some too, man."

"Maybe." A sudden thought made Jim reach for the cup. "Is that empty?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Give it here." Ellison cracked open his door enough to extend an arm, and filled the cup with snow.

"What's that for?" Sandburg sounded mildly curious.

"A cold compress for that bump on your head," Jim informed him, shutting the car door again hastily, as snow blew in. He found a handkerchief and packed snow into it, folding it into a compact square. "Here."

His Guide obeyed without argument, but made a request of his own: "Only if you put one on your knee too," he bargained.

"I don't have another handkerchief. Oh, wait, there's a microfiber cloth we were supposed to dust the dash with." Jim, admitting to himself that it probably was a good idea, conceded without argument and created his own ice pack. "I'm gonna check in with Ron once more, and then what say we shut things down and try to get some rest? Go on, get in the back and lie down, Chief."

Blair sighed wearily, and moved to wiggle between the seats. "Okay."

#####

 _It's not bad…just keep telling yourself that, Sandburg. It's not all that bad. You're dry and relatively warm, and there's things to eat and water to drink, and Jim's here. You're safe, and fairly healthy, and tomorrow the State Patrol will come along and dig us out and everything will be fine. This is just a weird sort of camping trip. We've been on lots of camping trips. This isn't that much different._

 _So why do I still feel like the bottom's dropping out of my stomach and I'm about ten seconds from a nervous breakdown?_

Blair laid his aching head on his duffle bag, and curled more tightly into himself. He adjusted the cold, damp compress a little, and stared gloomily around the interior of the Explorer. Jim had made it as cozy as he could. He'd set the big flashlight up on end, so that the light bounced softly off the ceiling. They had water and snacks within reach, and the pain medication…so as long as it didn't get too cold….

Blair sighed again.

"Head still aching, Chief?" Jim took off his boots, then stretched out beside his partner, shifting about to make himself more comfortable. He'd spread one of the space blankets for them to lie on, atop the coats and car blanket, and now pulled the second space blanket over them. "Gad, now I know what the Princess and the Pea felt like!" the Sentinel grumbled, shifting again.

Blair laughed at that; he couldn't help it. "Try dialing down touch a little," he advised. "Yeah, my head still aches, but I guess it's a little better. How's your knee?"

"It's okay if I keep it still."

"So stop squirming and keep it still," the Guide murmured, Sentinel-soft.

Jim whapped him lightly with the back of one hand, chuckling. "You sleepy, Chief?"

"Nah – not really. Remember, I slept a lot while you were driving. You?"

"Tired – not sleepy." Jim reached for a handful of trail mix and munched, contentedly. A wicked gleam entered his ice-blue eyes. "I've got an idea, Chief – why don't you tell me a story!"

"Huh?" The monosyllable was accompanied by a disbelieving snort.

"You heard. Just something to pass the time. Something you've never told me before. You always have stories to tell." _That oughta keep his mind occupied…._

Blair yawned ostentatiously. "I think I'm sleepy after all—" He broke off, chortling as Jim gently smacked him again. "I've got a better idea; I'll think of questions and you answer 'em."

"Oh, joy."

"Well, it'll give me time to think of a story. Let's see…Jim, did you and Steven have pets when you were growing up? With your Spirit Guide being a panther, and all, I'd think you would…."

Ellison accepted the topic gracefully. "We didn't have dogs. Or fish. And I don't suppose you mean the horses Steven and I learned to ride on – those weren't ours, anyway; they belonged to the riding academy. But we had a cat or two."

"Very appropriate," Blair murmured.

"I remember one we had for years," the older man recalled. "Big fluffy yellow tom cat. I think he was probably part Persian. Belonged to Sally, officially. At any rate, he was aristocratic enough to please Dad…Dad wouldn't have allowed just any old alley cat around, after all."

"What was his name?"

"Maurice. Sort of a play on that TV commercial cat, Morris. But prettier. The cat, I mean, not the name."

"What was he like?" Blair was always fascinated when he could get Jim to talk about his childhood; despite five years' acquaintance, there was still so much he didn't know about his Sentinel. Jim let these personal tidbits out – in dribs and drabs – so seldom.

"Very dignified, most of the time. But sometimes he'd condescend to play. He was a pushover for catnip. And flashlight beams." Idly, Jim moved the big flashlight around, directing the beam into all corners of the SUV before returning it to its place.

"How long did you have him?"

"It must have been nine or ten years at least. Eventually he got arthritic and cranky, and…and then one day, he just disappeared. Dad swore up and down that he hadn't had him put to sleep…he liked him too, and felt bad about it. It was like poor old Maurice just went away to die by himself."

A definite sniffle emanated from Blair's direction, and Ellison mentally kicked himself. This was _not_ cheering Sandburg up! "What about you, Chief? Did you have any pets?" he asked hastily. "Other than that damned monkey," he added with a grin.

"Ape, Jim. Larry was a Barbary ape, and you know it." The familiar exchange brought a laugh to Blair's lips. "Well, Naomi and I moved around so much, we couldn't really have pets, until I was in junior high," he continued, after a moment to collect his thoughts. "But we stayed with lots of people who did have them. Once we were at a place in the country where there were a dozen new kittens." He laughed again, softly. "I was in like, total heaven, man! I carried 'em around in my arms, my pockets, balancing on my shoulders….The ones I couldn't carry followed me around, once they were big enough."

Jim laughed aloud, imagining a little curly-haired Blair lugging an armload of kittens about, more trailing in his wake.

"When we settled for awhile – while I was in junior high – we did have a cat. A rather sinister-looking tom; gray all over and lean – sort of tough-looking, although that cat was one of the biggest wusses I ever met. And it went by the totally UN-tough name of Lucy."

Ellison spluttered. "LUCY?"

"Well," Blair said defensively, "I wasn't too sure which sex it was when I named it, all right? I thought it was a girl."

Jim turned his head away, and stuffed the collar of his shirt in his mouth to keep from howling, and hoped Blair didn't notice his telltale quivering muscles.

If Blair noticed, he didn't comment, merely continued his story. "By the time we figured out that Lucy was male, the name was stuck. So we just kept calling him Lucy – but we told people it was short for Lucifer."

Jim removed the self-imposed gag. "Smart move, Darwin . But maybe the name influenced him, since you said he wasn't all that tough….What happened to ol' Lucy?"

"When we moved again, we left him with a neighbor," Sandburg explained. "I missed him, but we knew he was happy, so that was okay. He liked gardens," he went on, a trifle wistfully, "he loved lying underneath cornstalks and bean plants in the shade, when it was hot."

"And you didn't have another pet until Larry?"

"Nope, I wasn't settled enough, or was living where pets weren't allowed. Although when I was in undergrad, I lived next door to a frat house that had a St. Bernard puppy. Cutest thing you ever saw, when it was a baby. But boy, did it ever grow! The guys used to take it out for walks; that was a favorite date – walking the puppy.…After awhile, though, I think it was Bruno taking them for a walk, instead." Blair reached out a hand to grip Jim's arm. "Now I've taken up taming a panther, ya know," he teased softly.

Jim laid his hand atop his Guide's. "Always wanted a pet wolf," he murmured. "At least, that's what I keep telling myself all the time." A muffled snort greeted that comment. "You warm enough now, Chief?"

"Guess so."

Jim knew obfuscation when he heard it; he'd had plenty of practice. "Scooch over here," he commanded. "We've got this whole 'shared bodily warmth' thing going, remember? Oh – take off the damned hiking boots, Chief! I don't need any more bruises than I've got already. And you better have stashed your piece; I draw the line at waking up with a revolver in my kidneys!"

"My gun's in the glove compartment. And despite some similarities, Jim, you're not James Bond, and I'm no beautiful spy chick." But Blair 'scooched,' nevertheless. He removed his boots, then curled on his left side, careful of the bruised shoulder, feeling Jim's comforting warmth against his back.

"Well, you're fairly pretty, and the hair confused me…OUCH! Watch it, Sandburg, I'm partial to that portion of my anatomy! If you don't want to be a beautiful spy chick, you could be Gene Wilder in _The Frisco Kid_. You like that better?" Jim tucked the blanket more tightly about them; already he could sense the increased heat surrounding them. "You know – 'C'mere, darlin'!'" He yawned, feeling himself relax.

"Swell – now you're Harrison Ford instead of Roger Moore, and I'm still the short Jewish guy!" But Sandburg was laughing. His depression had lifted; suddenly he was as assured as Jim that everything would be all right. With sudden insight, he knew why – it was that Sentinel/Guide thing, working again. With Jim there, he instinctively felt safe, and secure. As Blair grew warmer, an overwhelming wave of drowsiness hit him, and he willingly succumbed to it. "Just remember, you have to respect me in the morning," he mumbled. "Night, Jim." He was asleep before the Sentinel could reply.

#####

"Chief? Chief…Sandburg."

"Huh? Wha…?"

"I think it's morning."

Blair squinted into the dim interior of their temporary home. "How can you tell, it's still dark." Vaguely, he recalled being awakened at intervals through the night by his partner's soft-voiced requests for him to "open your eyes, Chief; just for a second" – Jim's conscientious 'concussion checks.' But the last time the Sentinel had wakened him felt like a long time ago.

"Sandburg, I can read my watch. It's nearly 7 a.m. "

"Well, aren't we superior, with our enhanced sight?" Blair stretched cautiously, reluctant to move from his warm spot. His shoulder gave a warning twinge. "Ouch."

"What's wrong?"

"Just my shoulder protesting. Oh God I'm stiff….Wow – I definitely need to find that tree again. Has it stopped snowing, you think?"

Jim cocked his head, listening to the nearly-silent susurrations outside, then shook it in negation. "Nope, still coming down. I hope we can get out. Stay put a minute, and let me check. No sense in both of us getting cold."

"How's your knee?" the Guide thought to ask, as Ellison began to carefully extricate himself from the blanket.

"Stiff, but a lot better than last night. Jesus, I feel like I slept on concrete! The next time we do this, I'm putting in for air mattresses!" Jim gingerly crawled on hands and knees to the back hatch and cautiously popped the upper half, raising it outward. "Shit,it's halfway up the hatch!" A rush of cold, fresh air swept through the car, accompanied by fluttering flakes; Ellison shivered and slammed the window shut again.

"Oh swell." Blair pulled the blanket over his head, trying to trap the warmth inside. "It'll be spring before anyone can dig us out!"

"We've still got lots of granola bars," the Sentinel assured him with a teasing smile.

Sandburg sighed deeply, and inched his covering down to reveal tousled hair and morning stubble. "Snow or no snow, I gotta get out," he mumbled, "otherwise we're gonna have a real problem." He sat up to retrieve his hiking boots, then his coat.

It took them both working together to pry open the doors; as Jim had stated, the snow was now over halfway up the body of the Explorer. Once free, Blair waded off to his tree, grateful for the increasing daylight, while Jim plunged through the drifts to the rear of the vehicle again, hoping to be able to dig enough snow away to start the engine. When Blair returned, he took Jim's place while the Sentinel made his own pilgrimage; eventually the tail pipe was once more free of snow.

Jim climbed back in, and Blair waited breathlessly while he cranked the engine. It took longer to start this time, and the younger man was beginning to feel a touch of panic before it finally roared to life. When it did, Blair slumped against the vehicle, heaving a sigh of relief.

Jim got out, again leaving the motor running, allowing the SUV's interior to warm up. "I'll call Walla Walla in a little bit; let 'em know we survived the night. I wonder if they've opened up the highway yet?"

"Do you hear any traffic?"

Ellison gave him an exasperated look. "With that going right here?" he queried, jerking his head at the Explorer. "No, Sandburg, I don't hear any traffic."

"Sorry – stupid question," the Guide mumbled, and turned away, preparing to get back in the car.

"Hey—" Jim reached to halt his partner's move. "Sorry, Chief, didn't mean to bite your head off." He patted Blair's arm, then gently propelled him towards the Explorer again. "Go fix us breakfast," he suggested with a grin.

"Right. Granola bars and trail mix, with a side of bottled water, coming up. God, I think I'd kill for a cup of hot coffee about now," Sandburg muttered, and went to do Jim's bidding.

#####

" _The plows are going out as we speak,"_ came the welcome news over the police radio. _"I can't say when they'll get to you – you'll just have to hang tight a while longer. Ellison, your captain was_ _not_ _a happy man when we got through to him last night. Is he always that – uh, does he always bark that way?"_

Jim laughed ruefully; he'd been afraid of that. "Yeah, he does – sometimes. You get used to it." But it was good to hear that rescue was at least on its way. He ended the conversation, and turned the car off once again.

 _Now that it's light out, I wonder if we could manage to climb up to the highway? Later…we can try it later. Maybe._ He turned around in his seat. "Breakfast ready, Chief?"

"Yeah." Sandburg sighed, and made a vague beckoning gesture. "Come on, it's not bacon and eggs, but it's the best I can do."

Instead of scrambling between the seats, Jim opened his door and got out, then climbed in the back door. It was easier on his aching knee. He made himself comfortable and reached for the package of granola bars. "You think you'd feel up to trying to make it up to the road after awhile? Might make it easier to be found if we could mark where we went over the edge."

The younger man nodded. "Yeah, I suppose. Sure."

Ellison heard the unspoken hesitation. _He's not feeling as well as he's pretending._ "I think the storm may blow itself out in a couple of hours, Chief. I sensed a change in the air pressure. We can try it after the snow eases off." He took a swig of bottled water and eyed his roommate. In the harsh light of day, Blair's usually-beautiful face was an unpleasant mélange of ugly bruising and too-pale skin accented by the dark shadows of beard growth. Although Jim was sure he was fairly scruffy himself, he was _positive_ he didn't look anywhere near as bad as Sandburg! "Take some more Tylenol, Blair – that's an order. Senior detective to junior partner, Sentinel to Guide, roommate to roommate; whatever rank I have to pull."

"That's not very fair," Blair complained, but swallowed the pain medication without further argument – uncharacteristic obedience which made Jim worry even more.

He watched, perturbed, as Blair nibbled at his dried fruit without much interest, and realized that somehow Sandburg had managed to deflect or avoid any questions about his well-being. Jim had intended to ask him how he was feeling as soon as they'd awakened; he'd meant to check Blair's eyes, and his vitals…. _Darn him, he's slipperier than a greased snake_ , he thought ruefully. "Headache pretty bad?" he asked casually.

Blair gave him a long look, then relented. "Yeah. It was okay when I woke up, but…." He rubbed at his forehead fretfully.

"I suspect, partner, that we're both suffering from a lack of caffeinated beverages," the Sentinel chuckled. "Because I'm getting one too, and I didn't hit MY head! At least not the way you did."

Sandburg gazed at him, bemused. "You mean I feel like this because I can't get a cup of coffee?" he asked at last.

"Well, partially. You ARE suffering from a concussion, remember. The lack of coffee is just aggravating it."

"Great." Blair laid back on the blankets, covering his eyes with one arm.

"Give the Tylenol some time to work, Chief." Jim scooted closer to his partner and reached to slide a hand beneath the younger man's neck. He massaged gently, fingertips probing. "Relax – your muscles are like steel cable back here!"

Blair flinched, and hissed. "Ow!"

"That hurts?" Ellison was startled. He probed again, tentatively, and was rewarded by another yelp from his Guide. "What in the…oh."

"What? What? What is it?"

"Shhh, it's okay; stop panicking." Ellison chuckled a little. "It's just – it didn't occur to me before. Your neck probably got snapped around some when we hit – pulled some muscles…."

"Yeah – your point being?"

"Does the word 'whiplash' ring any bells?"

Blair opened his eyes briefly, surveyed his partner, and then closed them again. A few choice phrases issued from his lips, muttered so quietly that only a Sentinel could have heard them, but Ellison didn't make the effort. Finally, he sighed. "I do not deserve this," he mumbled.

"Of course you don't," Ellison comforted him.

"And I don't care who asks, or why…I am never, never, NEVER going to work a prisoner transfer again! This isn't as bad as Dawson Quinn's transfer – it would be hard to top that – but it's bad enough!"

"We won't do any more prisoner transfers," his partner soothed. "I'll get it in writing from Simon, if you want."

Blair eyed him. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"What kind of a question is that? I'm always nice to you, aren't I?" Jim assumed a _faux_ -beguiling smile. "Besides, you're hurt, and I have to make you feel better. It's the Blessed Protector thing. I can't help it."

"Oh stop – if you're too kind to me, I'll just get more and more self-pitying." With a laugh that turned into another sigh, Blair sat up. "Okay, that's it. No more whining, I promise."

Jim, shaking his head and smiling, just reached over to resume his massage. It wasn't all that easy to turn off instincts.

###

Ellison's weather sense held true; the snow started tapering off about ten o'clock . By then, both detectives were so bored from their forced confinement they would have seized any excuse to get out and move around, despite their injuries. Blair had produced a deck of cards from his bag, and they'd played Blackjack and gin rummy for awhile, but both were sick and tired of card games now. A hike to the top of the ravine sounded like a perfect morning's activity. They could take it slow, after all – there wasn't any rush!

When they contacted Walla Walla once again, they received the welcome news that the snowplows were moving out from several communities, to clear the main highways.

" _Probably looking at mid-afternoon,"_ was the estimate. _"You guys okay until then?"_

"Yeah, we're good." Blair was on the radio this time; Jim was outside, clearing snow from the tailpipe again, and brushing it off the top and hood. "But I'm never gonna feel the same way about granola bars, man!"

" _Call us about 2:00_ _, and we'll see about patching you into whatever plow's nearest then,"_ was the advice. _"You can talk directly to them about pickup."_

Ending the call, Blair stuck his head out the door and hailed his partner. "Hey Jim? They think mid-afternoon, to get to us."

"Okay." The Sentinel nodded approval. "We need to figure out some way to mark the spot, up on the road. Don't want 'em shooting past us."

Blair frowned. "There's an easier way," he observed.

"Oh? What's that, Darwin ?"

"Well, when they get near, you'll be able to hear it, right? All we have to do then is hit the panic button on the key fob, and set off the car alarm!"

Jim stared at his partner for a moment before a wide grin split his face. He lunged through the snow, dragged Blair from the car, and enveloped him in a bear hug. "Damn, you're good, Sandburg!"

"Gl-glad you appreciate it!" his Guide gasped. "Now, put me down before you add broken ribs to my list!"

#####

"…absolutely last time you two are getting involved with prisoner transport! I don't care who asks for you!"

Jim covered his mouth with one hand, and discreetly attempted to catch his partner's eye. They hadn't even had to broach the subject with Simon; he'd brought it up on his own. Sandburg smiled a little, and ghosted a tiny wink in the Sentinel's direction.

"And what's more, it'll be a cold day in hell before either of you is allowed to take a Motor Pool vehicle out again! Do you have any IDEA how much it cost to get that thing hauled outta there?"

"Hey, why both of us? I'm not the one who drove it into—" Blair cut his objections off abruptly when his captain _and_ his roommate both glared at him.

"Shut up, Sandburg!"

"Shutting up, sir. Sorry, Jim," he added in a much softer voice.

"Now go on, get out of here, go home." Banks chewed his unlit cigar ferociously for a moment, still glaring. His eyes raked over the two men seated in his office, taking in their bedraggled appearance, and the fierce expression softened. "Get some rest. Recuperate. Write the report and e-mail it in – I don't want you back in here until Monday. You'll be out of the sling by then, Sandburg?"

"Yeah, it's just a precaution, Simon. Just to make sure I keep it still while the bruises heal." Blair got to his feet and extended his left hand to assist Jim, who was once again walking with a cane. The doctors at Cascade General hadn't been happy with either of the Ellison-Sandburg team, this go-around. "C'mon, Jim, let's go."

Banks waited until Blair cleared the office before he added a parting admonition to his top detective. "Jim, hang on just a minute. I mean it about recuperating, you know. Both of you take it easy for a couple of days. Sandburg looks like hell and you aren't much better."

"Gee, thanks, Simon, you're such a flatterer. I'm overwhelmed," Ellison said dryly. He quirked a smile at his boss. "I'll look after Blair—"

"And Blair will look after YOU." Sandburg popped his head back into Banks' office, seeking his dallying partner. "Come on, Jim!"

"Christ, what a nag—"

"A nag? A NAG? You're calling me a nag? Joel, he called me a nag…are you gonna let him get away with that? Hey, man, watch the hair…! The hair is sacred….JIM!"

The End


End file.
